


in plain sight

by TolkienGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean and Pie, Episode: s12e05 The One You've Been Waiting For, Gen, Pie, Post-Episode: s12e05 The One You've Been Waiting For, Totally Gen, almost, almost fluffy, and Sam reflects on how his brother handles life, in which Sam and Dean go and get pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: There are a dozen pies in a proud row along the countertop when they enter, and Dean greets them like old friends.





	

The smell of fresh-baked pastries hits them half-way down the block. “Stop dragging your feet, Sam,” Dean scolds, as though Sam’s failure to _run_ is somehow an unimaginable impediment.

There are a dozen pies in a proud row along the countertop when they enter, and Dean greets them like old friends. Sam takes the motherly smile of the woman with flour streaked on her apron to mean that hey, with a sign that says _Best Pie in 1,000 Miles_ , she probably gets some…fans in here.

“I’ll take a slice of salted caramel apple and a slice of cherry,” Dean decides. “Sam?”

“Pumpkin,” Sam says, because it’s right in front of him and, why not? Dean just killed Hitler. They can chill for a minute.

Still, he’s tempted to brood when they slide into one of the red leather booths. Not because he isn’t relieved to be done with another successful hunt, not because he isn’t happy that Dean is smiling again and attacking the pie with aggressive affection.

It’s just—there’s a little memory of Dean with that same incredulous delight written on his features, only it’s flung far back, almost a decade earlier.

 _I’m Batman_. Pen, meet gun barrel. Remote, meet forehead.

 _I killed Hitler_. And yeah, it’s all the same, that part of Dean that’s a gleeful kid, in awe of the world for a moment, instead of cursed by it.

But even then, Sam reflects. Almost a decade ago, Dean was going to Hell. Hell-bent and terrified, but he had a grin on his face. And now, Dean is nowhere near over Mom’s leaving. They’re never _great_ , but sometimes, they’re _good_. It’s just that— _good_ comes at strange times. Times that Sam, who always (painfully) lives in the whole of his universe, not just whatever part is nearest, can’t quite make sense of.

 _Sublimation_ , Sam thinks again. But then, Sam’s no therapist. He’s more of a personal experience expert, who occasionally wants to read the guidebook to their screwed-up crap, see if it can help.

“Serves you right for getting the most boring kind of pie,” Dean says, noticing that Sam’s barely taken a bite. Dean has cherry on his chin.

“Dude. Napkin?”

“Oh, right. Want some?”

“Pumpkin’s fine with me.” And Sam takes a bite, tries on a smile. He knows his brother better than anyone, but that doesn’t make them alike. Sam wants to talk, wants _Dean_ to talk—wants to tell him, _you know Mom loves you, right?_ even though he’s not sure if he has a right to that kind of confidence.

Dean leans back. The town around them is going on, same as ever. Another little piece of a world that never knows when it’s saved. “Hitler. Dude, this makes me Captain freaking America, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll get the Avengers on speed-dial,” Sam retorts dryly. “Though I always thought you aspired more to Tony Stark.”

Dean’s eyes light up. “You think I’m Ironman?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Try some of this apple caramel, dude. It’s like…oh, God. It’s R-rated.”

“Please don’t make pie into porn,” Sam says, judgily, because he knows that’s what’s expected, but he takes a forkful. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“Right?” Dean’s smile is wide, and his eyes are bright. There’s probably still some pain in there somewhere, if Sam wanted to find it.

“You good, man?” He tries that out for size, doesn’t want to push.

Dean nods. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners, knowing and bright and a little older, but not unhappy. “It’s a good day, Sammy.”

Sublimation, maybe. But the world never knows when it’s saved, and yet it is. Sam never knows quite when things are good, but perhaps he doesn’t need to.


End file.
